


Cat's Cradle

by handwrittenhello



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Cat Jaskier | Dandelion, Cursed Jaskier | Dandelion, Established Relationship, Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Minor Injuries, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Rating May Change, Self-Indulgent, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, no beta we die like renfri, this is literally a hundred percent self indulgent fluff as my reward for doing nanowrimo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:26:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27815287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handwrittenhello/pseuds/handwrittenhello
Summary: Jaskier gets turned into a kitten after accidentally upsetting a god. Geralt is going to have a hell of a time keeping him safe now.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 50
Kudos: 371





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is one hundred percent self indulgent literally written only for myself. hope you all like it lmao

It started in the forest, as most things with Geralt did. They were in the forest, next to a river, in the middle of which there was an old shrine, and this was really turning into more of a geography lesson than Jaskier usually liked.

“Geralt, _why_ are we doing this, again?” he asked, looking distastefully at the muck they were about to trudge through as they waded their way to the shrine.

“Have to return the necklace to the shrine, appease Ovinnik,” Geralt grunted.

“Ah. Yes, that’s the, uh, local god? Big, catlike, eyes like fire?” Jaskier recounted, trying to remember his Oxenfurt lectures on minor gods from so long ago. Geralt didn’t correct him, so Jaskier assumed he’d gotten it right. “Should be easy enough, then. If we aren’t swept out to sea—gods, this current is really strong,” Jaskier babbled, fighting to stay upright as they got further into the river, waist-deep. Geralt, of course, was making it look almost effortless as he cut through the rushing water.

“Watch your step,” Geralt said without turning around. “I’m not diving in to save you.”

“Excuse you, I may not look it, but I have incredible balance. A bard is a performer, after all, and must be light on his feet—” The rest of his sentence was cut off as his foot slipped on a loose rock, sending him plunging underwater.

He swirled around for a few seconds, disoriented, unable to tell which direction was up. The water wasn’t too deep, but it was moving fast, tumbling him around and around like laundry in a washing tub.

He thanked every god he knew of—Ovinnik included—that his bardic training allowed him the lung capacity to hold his breath for so long. Just as it was starting to burn, that instinct to inhale all-consuming, he felt a strong hand close around his ankle, yanking up until he breached the surface.

Geralt stood, a rock against the current, holding Jaskier upside down by the ankle, dripping wet and scowling. “Hello,” Jaskier said, smiling sunnily up at him. “Thanks for the rescue.”

Geralt rolled his eyes, and Jaskier half-feared that Geralt would drop him right back in, but all he did was swing Jaskier up onto his shoulder, a mimicry of that time with the djinn, and start wading back upriver.

“You know, I would really appreciate it if you would stop carrying me like a particularly annoying bag of flour,” Jaskier said mildly, but made no move to struggle against Geralt’s hold. “It’s so dehumanizing. Why can’t we go for a nice bridal carry? Or a piggyback ride?”

“You’re not a child,” Geralt rumbled. “Or a bride.”

“I’d make a very nice bride. Although the whole ‘til-death-do-us-part’ thing isn’t really my area,” Jaskier continued, thinking of all the times he’d seen young women forcefully married off, doomed to push out children until their husband kicked the bucket or until they were grey with age. Not a pleasant thought at all.

Geralt didn’t respond to any of it, instead dumping Jaskier in a heap on the tiny island Geralt had waded to. “Ouch,” Jaskier said out of principle, because it didn’t really hurt. Geralt paid him no mind, so Jaskier huffed and untangled his limbs.

Geralt took the necklace out of his bag, approaching the shrine slowly. Jaskier stood up and followed, watching as he placed the necklace carefully around the neck of the cat statue on the altar. For a moment, nothing happened, and then the cat’s eyes flashed red before returning to their normal stone.

“Right. Good. Easy,” Jaskier said, clapping his hands together and walking closer. “Now, why don’t we get back to town and dry off—” he broke off as he stumbled over something, a crack in the stone underfoot, that he hadn’t seen before. He yelped as he stumbled forward, throwing out his hands to catch himself.

Geralt started forward, as if he meant to catch Jaskier, but even his witcher speed was too slow—Jaskier was already in motion, falling directly on top of the altar, knocking the cat off its pedestal and onto the ground, where it promptly shattered. “Fuck,” barked Geralt, pulling Jaskier back by the scruff of his doublet.

“Ohhh, Geralt, I don’t feel—” Jaskier groaned, and then doubled over in pain.

“Jaskier, talk to me,” Geralt ordered, patting his hands up and down Jaskier’s body. “What’s wrong?”

Except Jaskier could no longer speak— _cat got your tongue,_ he thought hysterically—because it was like his entire being was _shrinking,_ folding down into a much smaller space than he was used to occupying. And it itched—every inch of him itched, like a beard four days past shaving.

He let out a yowl as his muscles contracted all at once, harshly, painfully. Geralt’s hands retreated, and Jaskier wished desperately for them to come back, so he wasn’t alone in this agonizing and terrifying transformation.

He wasn’t sure when it stopped—only knew that his muscles stopped seizing eventually, leaving him shivering and collapsed on the stone.

And then there were hands beneath him—strong, calloused, Geralt’s—but they were _far_ too big. (Or was he far too small? Part of him wondered.) Geralt picked him up gently, cradling him to his chest—and yes, Jaskier was definitely smaller than he used to be, because Geralt could fit him cupped in one hand.

“Geralt,” he cried, or tried to—all that came out was a yowl. He tried again and got only a high pitched mewl. Oh, gods. As a bard, he needed his voice—it was his most important tool, beyond even his instrument, his hands.

And speaking of hands—he no longer had any, a thought that sent his mind reeling. He looked down at himself and saw furry black paws, complete with razor-sharp claws, in their place. Holy shit. He’d been turned into a cat.

But his size—no, not a cat. A _kitten._

“Fuck, Jaskier. I can’t take you anywhere,” Geralt complained, but it was clear that his heart wasn’t in it, as he was gently stroking a hand down Jaskier’s back.

_Wasn’t my fault,_ he thought crossly, looking up at Geralt and meowing as loudly and obnoxiously as possible.

“Come on, then, bard. Back to town with you before you go breaking any more sacred artifacts,” Geralt said, shouldering his bag with one hand while keeping Jaskier clasped to his chest with the other.

Jaskier felt both very safe and very small as Geralt waded back to the riverbank. On the one hand, Geralt’s grip was secure, cradling, and Jaskier knew that Geralt would never drop him—but on the other, the river now seemed leagues deep, and he was all too aware of how easily it would spell death. He shivered.

And kept shivering, because it really was quite cold out here, wasn’t it? Especially when he was already soaking wet, and Geralt’s hands were cold as ice even through his fur.

“Hmm,” Geralt said, considering, as he reached the bank where Roach waited. “Have to get you warmed up. You’re too small,” he continued, frowning.

Jaskier huffed; it wasn’t as if he could very well control it, could he?

“Here,” Geralt said, flipping open Roach’s saddlebags, and promptly dumped Jaskier inside. Jaskier was instantly ready to complain, because hey, rude. But on the other, it was actually quite nice in here—this wasn’t the pouch where Geralt kept his nastiest alchemy ingredients, and was in fact where he kept his clean laundry (for what passed as clean to a witcher, anyway). It made quite a cozy nest, and Jaskier immediately burrowed deep inside.

Geralt flipped the saddlebags closed, ensconcing him in warm darkness. Jaskier could almost fall asleep in here—was on the verge of it, in fact, until Geralt mounted Roach and spurred her into motion. The rocking jolted him awake, but as he got used to it, it became more soothing than anything else. He slipped back into a doze.

At some point, Roach slowed to a stop, rousing him, and Jaskier heard the sound of voices muffled through the clothes. He struggled back to the surface just as Geralt opened the saddlebags, light flooding in.

“Come on,” he muttered, reaching in and pulling Jaskier out. Jaskier dangled awkwardly from one hand, back legs instinctively curling up and kicking, until Geralt shifted his grip, cradling him to his chest once more.

Jaskier settled and let his eyes adjust to the light—and wasn’t that a novelty, that his pupils could expand and contract so much easier—while Geralt navigated his way to an inn and negotiated a room.

Once they were upstairs and Geralt had placed him on the bed, Jaskier could tell that it was like he breathed a sigh of relief. Aww, had Geralt been worried about him?

Geralt sat down heavily in the chair across from the bed, scrubbing a hand across his face. Jaskier chirped and hopped down from the bed, winding his way around Geralt’s ankles. _It’s alright, Geralt,_ he wanted to say. _I’ll be alright._

“How am I supposed to fix this, Jaskier? You pissed off a god. Returning the necklace again won’t work,” Geralt said.

“Mrrp?” Jaskier answered. He wasn’t sure if Geralt was expecting a conversation—he certainly couldn’t contribute. Perhaps Geralt was simply talking aloud, like he did to Roach at times when he thought that Jaskier couldn’t hear him.

“We’ll have to see a hedgewitch in the morning,” Geralt concluded. “Though I doubt she’ll have much sway over the whims of a god.”

Jaskier rubbed his face against Geralt’s ankle. The plan seemed as good as any to him.

“Hmm. Can you truly understand me?” Geralt asked, as if it had only just dawned on him. Jaskier looked up at him, glaring, and yowled. _I can understand you fine, asshole. I’m trying to be supportive._

“Just checking,” Geralt grunted. “Now come on. Time for bed. We’ll figure this all out tomorrow,” he said, effectively ending the conversation. He pulled off his boots and clothes and pulled the covers back, climbing beneath them, before pinching out the candle beside him.

He stalked over to the bed and jumped up—only to immediately fall back to the floor. It was too tall for his useless kitten legs. He whined. _Geraaaaalt! Let me up!_

Geralt buried his head underneath a pillow and growled. “Will you shut up if I let you on the bed?” he asked, reaching a hand down to pick Jaskier up. Jaskier went happily, entirely mollified by being allowed on the bed. It was much warmer and softer up here, and Jaskier immediately fell to kneading at the blankets, purring.

“Good night, Jaskier,” Geralt muttered. Jaskier purred louder, then curled up in the crook of Geralt’s arm, burrowing into his warmth.

He fell asleep feeling warm and safe.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good news: extra-long chapter! bad news: i wrote the first part, then took a massive break before writing the second part, so there might be inconsistencies. if you notice anything, lmk! this isn't betaed so i appreciate the feedback :)

When Jaskier woke up, the sun hadn’t even risen yet. He was concerned for a moment—what had woken him? He hadn’t voluntarily risen before sunrise since he was a child.

But, he remembered then, that was when he was in a human body, with human instincts. Apparently, he was nocturnal now. He huffed and stretched, spreading long, gangly limbs in every direction, flexing his new claws.

Right onto Geralt’s bicep. Whoops. Geralt shot awake, grabbing for the steel sword he always kept close at hand when in towns. This had the unfortunate side effect of sending Jaskier careening off the bed. He yowled in surprise, twisting midair—that was a handy trick—and then landing with a hiss in Geralt’s direction.

“Fuck,” Geralt grumbled, when he saw no intruder in the room. “Come here, Jaskier.”

Jaskier turned his back to Geralt, tail held high, still a bit puffy from the sudden fright. He knew it was a bit petty, but then, he was always petty.

“Suit yourself,” Geralt huffed, lying back down to sleep. Stupid witcher with his stupid human-ish sleeping patterns. Jaskier sulked for a minute before getting bored, and decided to explore the room with his new cat senses.

The whole seeing-in-the-dark was a definite plus—no longer did he have to fumble around with a candle in the dead of night. Was this how Geralt saw all the time? No wonder Jaskier seemed so blind to him.

Jaskier amused himself by slinking around the room for a bit, taking in every detail. Eventually, however, he grew bored, and switched to watching Geralt sleep. It was something he rarely got to see, unless he was injured or passed out or something.

Jaskier sat there for a bit, just watching the way his chest rose and fell in time, studying the lines in his face that smoothed out when he was asleep.

He got bored again after about one minute, and left the witcher to his sleep. Stalking closer to Geralt’s bag, he nosed his way inside, reveling at the fact that he could fit his entire body inside the bag. Something inside smelled of food—cured meat, perhaps? He could do with a midnight snack.

He wormed his way inside, heedless of anything in his way. Unfortunately, some of those things included Geralt’s potion bottles, which proceeded to roll out of the bag and onto the floor. Jaskier flinched as he heard the shattering of glass.

Then there was the telltale sound of Geralt rousing again, letting out a low curse as he saw the mess on the floor. “Damn it, Jaskier. Why do you always have to make a mess?” he demanded, reaching into the bag and pulling Jaskier out by the scruff. He hung limply in Geralt’s grip, looking up at him with big, guilty eyes. _Sorry._

Geralt sighed. “Stay on the bed,” he ordered, placing him gently on the rumpled bedspread. “I’ll clean this up. And stay out of my bag, got it?”

Jaskier meowed.

* * *

After he cleaned up the spill, Geralt apparently decided to forgo sleep for the rest of the night. It was nearly morning anyway, Jaskier figured, and so he wasn’t surprised when Geralt packed the rest of their things up and loaded them onto Roach, Jaskier riding on his shoulder the entire time.

Geralt had given him very strict orders to stay there and stay out of trouble, and after the messes he kept accidentally making, Jaskier guiltily complied.

It was a bit more difficult, though, once Geralt spurred roach into a trot. Jaskier dug his claws into Geralt’s armor, holding on with all his strength—but that wasn’t much, seeing as he was currently the size of an orange.

So really, he wasn’t to blame when one particularly hard jolt had him flying off of Geralt’s shoulder, thankfully landing in a bush rather than on the hard-packed road. The downside was that it was a _very_ thorny bush. He yowled and hissed, trying to fight his way out in his panic, but only succeeded in getting more tangled. _Geralt! Help! It hurts!_

If Jaskier had been capable of crying in this body, he might have from the sheer frustration and pain. Why did he always have to get into trouble, even without meaning to?

He faintly heard Geralt pull Roach to a stop and dismount, and then, thank the gods, Geralt was reaching into the bush with gloved hands and gently untangling him from the thorny vines.

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Geralt soothed, stilling his limbs with a scruff to the neck and making quick work of pulling him out. He held Jaskier, shaking, against his chest, and hurried over to Roach. “I’m sorry, this is my fault,” Geralt said, rummaging around in the saddlebags.

Jaskier was still shaking, but he started up a rusty purr. _It’s okay. Please don’t go._

Geralt pulled out a vial of ointment that he sometimes used on wounds he didn’t want to get infected. He pulled out the cork with his teeth and proceeded to apply it to the worst of the scratches one-handed, the other hand being occupied with holding Jaskier. Jaskier flinched with every brush of his hand, but bore the pain bravely. He deserved it for how much of a nuisance he was.

“There,” Geralt said when he was done, placing Jaskier back inside the laundry pouch of the saddlebags. “Maybe that’ll keep you out of trouble.” He meant it as a joke, in that wry tone of his, but Jaskier couldn’t help but feel it was an admonishment. He didn’t _mean_ to get into trouble; it just found him.

He burrowed into the laundry so that he didn’t have to face Geralt, heedless of the way it stung his scratches. He just wanted to lick his wounds in peace—or better yet, sleep until this stupid curse was lifted entirely.

Roach started up a familiar trot, but it wasn’t the same comforting rhythm he had so easily fallen asleep to before. Instead, it kept him awake, even as the sounds of the forest changed as they traveled deeper into it.

Finally they stopped, and despite his best efforts to remain hidden, Geralt managed to wrangle him out of the saddlebags. Noticing they had arrived at a cottage, he hissed and kicked, but Geralt kept a firm hold. “What’s gotten into you?”

Jaskier growled. _Leave me alone._

“Stop that. We need to see the hedgewitch, unless you want to be stuck like this forever.” Geralt shook him a little for emphasis. Jaskier hissed in response.

“Don’t make me axii you,” Geralt threatened, and that was what finally got Jaskier to capitulate. He drooped, and Geralt carried him inside the cottage.

The hedgewitch stood next to a roaring fireplace, chopping herbs and occasionally stirring a large cauldron over the fire. _Very witchy of her,_ Jaskier thought, still dangling limply.

Geralt cleared his throat.

“Yes?” asked the witch, not looking up.

“I need help breaking a curse,” Geralt said, walking closer. The smell of the fragrant herbs hit Jaskier’s sensitive cat nose, and he sniffed deeply. Whatever it was, it smelled _delicious_ to his new senses.

The hedgewitch finally looked up. “What kind? If it’s a problem with your cock, I’d advise you to see the healer first. I’ve had too many men in here claiming foul play when it’s nothing more than impotence.”

Geralt shifted uneasily. “No, it’s my bard,” he said, thrusting Jaskier out in front of himself. Jaskier did his best to look appropriately small and sad. “He angered a god.”

She burst out laughing, which was _not_ the reaction he’d been hoping for. “Oh, witcher, you think a village witch can undo a god’s work?”

Geralt cursed under his breath. “So what, he’s stuck like this forever?”

“Oh, I doubt that. Which god was it?”

“Ovinnik.”

“Ah, yes. Put him down for me?” she asked, gesturing to the table. Jaskier was set down, where he immediately made for the pile of herbs. They just smelled _so damn good._

“Ah ah ah,” she scolded, gently pushing him away. “Let me have a look at you.” She turned to Geralt. “Does he still have his wits?”

“Yes. If he had any to begin with,” Geralt snorted. Jaskier turned around and hissed, just for the record.

“Enough bickering,” the witch admonished, then placed her hands on Jaskier’s head. They were warm and heavy, and he fought not to push up into them for a pet. She held them there for a minute, and all the while Jaskier grew fidgetier and fidgetier, but eventually she took them away and ran a quick hand down his back. He purred.

“Well?” Geralt demanded.

“Not permanent. Should wear off in a day or so,” she informed them. Jaskier, satisfied with the news, flicked his tail, and then went off to investigate the herbs now that Geralt and the witch were distracted by their conversation.

“Hmm. And he’ll keep his mind?” Jaskier heard Geralt ask, only half-paying attention. He sniffed at the herbs— _simply divine—_ and tentatively stuck out his tongue to lick.

Melitele’s _tits,_ that tasted good. He flopped on his side and rolled around, basking in the wonderful, delightful, delicious aroma. He felt syrupy, as if he had melted into a puddle of fur and bones right then and there.

Geralt and the witch were still talking, but far away, as if underwater. Were they underwater? That wasn’t very nice of them, to leave him all alone like that. He tried to get up, but the effort was too much, honestly. He managed to roll over onto his other side, at least, and was greeted by the view of Geralt’s ass.

And oh, what a nice ass it was. Jaskier mourned his lack of hands with which to squeeze it. He meowed his displeasure—hey, meowing was kind of like singing, huh? He meowed again, longer and louder, and Geralt turned around to look at him.

“What, Jaskier?” he demanded impatiently, but when he looked at Jaskier, his pupils expanded. If kittens could laugh, Jaskier would have been in hysterics. As it was, he wiggled, flicking his tail back and forth. “Damn it.”

“What—oh, fuck. He’s gotten into the catnip, hasn’t he?” the witch asked exasperatedly, although amusement colored her tone. Jaskier preened to have entertained her, always a bard at heart.

“Fool bard,” Geralt growled, scooping Jaskier up much too quickly. The world swam, and Jaskier hissed. “Yeah, you’re very fierce.” Then, to the healer: “How much to replace it?”

She waved him off. “He barely touched it, no need. Although you still owe for the diagnosis.”

Geralt sighed, but pulled out his coin purse. Jaskier, from where he lay in the crook of Geralt’s arm, wiggled again. Geralt’s armor felt nice against his fur, scratching in all the best ways. He did it again, and would have dislodged himself had Geralt not caged him in with his other hand. “Can already tell I’m going to have a rough time keeping you out of trouble until this curse lifts,” he grumbled, leaving the cottage.

“Have a nice day,” the witch called after them.

Outside was like an entirely new world. Everything was so _vibrant._ He stared in wonder, entranced by the level of detail his new eyes could detect.

And then he saw it—prey. A rabbit twitched in the grass, ears swiveling, and Jaskier was off like a shot. He leapt from Geralt’s arms, narrowly avoiding the swiping hands trying to catch him, and crept hurriedly over. He stopped halfway there, feline instincts taking over. He dropped into an even lower crouch, pupils widening, and felt his hindquarters wiggling. He waited, waited, waited for the perfect moment to _pounce—_ only for gloved hands to close around his middle the second he sprang.

The rabbit ran off, and Jaskier hissed, squirming in Geralt’s arms. How dare the witcher scare off his prey!

“That thing was bigger than you, Jaskier. And there’s food at the inn.”

“ _Meow.”_

“Uh huh. I’m not letting you out of my sight until you’re big enough that you won’t get eaten by the first thing you come across.”

Rude, but fair. Jaskier meowed again out of principle, but allowed Geralt to carry him back to Roach. Though, when he made to stick Jaskier inside the saddlebags, Jaskier stared up at him with mournful eyes. He wanted to _see._

Geralt sighed, but let him perch on Roach’s saddle, with a firm grip around his middle to ensure no accidents. He rode slowly, nothing faster than a walk. Jaskier stared at the scenery passing them by, entranced, mouth opening into a chitter whenever a small critter caught his eye. Geralt made sure to keep an extra-firm grip on him then, lest Jaskier try to go on the prowl again.

It was late afternoon by the time they returned to the inn, and over the course of the ride, the world had become steadily less syrupy as the catnip wore off. He was dozing in the saddle when Geralt led Roach into the stables.

His hands were gentle as they scooped him up, careful not to disturb him too much. Half-asleep, he watched through slitted eyes as Geralt walked up to their room and placed him upon the heap of blankets on the bed.

He was asleep only moments later.

* * *

The crackling of a fire in the fireplace greeted him when he woke. He blinked his eyes open, yawning, and saw Geralt sitting at the edge of the bed, sorting through his bags, the kind of quiet busywork he did when he didn’t want to disturb Jaskier. His heart warmed.

“Mrrp?” he chirped, stretching and sitting up. Geralt glanced over, offered him an almost-smile, and went back to his sorting. His movements were entrancing; Jaskier watched as his long white hair danced enticingly with every shift.

He could feel his pupils widening as he fell into a crouch, stalking a new kind of prey. He crept closer, closer, and then sprang into action.

Tiny claws pricked into Geralt’s shirt as he latched on, nipping at the ends of his hair. “Jaskier,” Geralt warned, reaching back a hand to dislodge him. Jaskier latched onto that instead, capturing his new victim with ease. He dangled from Geralt’s fingers, gnawing at them, but the bastard didn’t even seem affected.

“Guess the catnip wore off,” Geralt muttered. “Hang on.” He gently shook Jaskier off onto the mattress and reached into his bag, rummaging for something. Moments later, he pulled it out in triumph—a length of thread, the kind he used to patch up his clothes, but which was now too short to be of any use. He dangled it over Jaskier, who was lying on his back on the bed, and he immediately went wild.

Geralt always kept it just out of reach, at first challenging, but as the game wore on, it became more frustrating than anything. Jaskier whined plaintively, slumping on his side and giving Geralt his saddest look. Geralt capitulated, rewarding his hunting efforts with the piece of thread.

Jaskier licked at it happily as Geralt stood and walked over to the table, and returned bearing a plate of food that he immediately dug into. Jaskier’s stomach growled, and he dropped the string, immediately forgotten in the face of a meal.

He sat up quickly, staring intently at Geralt as he ate. Geralt stared back, chewing. “What?” he asked.

“Mew.”

“This is my dinner, bard. Go hunt your own.”

“ _Meowwww,”_ Jaskier replied sorrowfully. Did Geralt seriously expect him to go hunt for his own dinner?

Then he caught sight of the twinkle in Geralt’s eye that meant he was only taking the piss. He headbutted Geralt’s leg. Geralt chuckled and tore off a piece of chicken, holding it out to Jaskier’s inquisitive nose.

Jaskier devoured it in a second, and Geralt tore off more. He alternated between feeding Jaskier and feeding himself until Jaskier turned away, small belly full for the night.

He curled up atop the blankets, ready to fall into a food-induced doze, only for Geralt to prod him awake after returning his dishes to the innkeeper. “I need to give you a proper bath,” Geralt informed him, when he was greeted by Jaskier’s unamused, sleepy glare.

 _A bath?_ Didn’t cats bathe themselves? Speaking of, Jaskier was surprised he hadn’t felt the urge to yet, and couldn’t help but be grateful. But if the alternative was _Geralt_ bathing him…

“Come on,” he said, picking Jaskier up and carrying him towards the basin of water on the table. “Should have done this first, actually. Have to make sure those scratches are completely clean.”

Ah, yes. Jaskier had almost forgotten about them, to be honest. He pouted as Geralt placed him in the basin of water—at least it was warm, Jaskier reasoned—and began to scrub at him with a cloth. He was gentle, of course, especially over the scrapes, and Jaskier found that he was able to, if not _like_ the bath, then at least tolerate it. Baths were _so_ much more enjoyable as a human.

Geralt finished rinsing off the rest of the ointment that had managed to stick throughout all of the rolling around, as well as the dirt he had acquired. Jaskier felt markedly better once he was clean, and Geralt grabbed a linen cloth to dry him off with.

Swaddled in the cloth in Geralt’s hands, he felt as secure as ever, blinking slowly up at Geralt. The feeling of contentment lasted all the way until he fell asleep, snug against Geralt’s chest in the bed.

* * *

He awoke the next morning with his face buried in Geralt’s chest, arms flung around him—wait a minute. Arms? _Human arms?_

He flailed in his excitement, caught up in the revelation that he had, sometime in the night, been returned to his proper human shape. An overly enthusiastic movement had his hand catching Geralt across the cheek, spurring him rudely into wakefulness.

“Jaskier!” he shouted as he sat up, instantly alert, eyes casting about the room.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to—but look! Hands!” He waved them in front of Geralt’s face to illustrate the point.

“You’re back,” Geralt said, relieved.

“Better than ever,” Jaskier proclaimed, smiling broadly. Geralt lunged forward and pulled him into a tight hug—unexpected, but never unwelcome. “Oh, darling,” he said fondly.

“Missed you,” Geralt admitted, and it sounded a little painful for him to say. Jaskier treasured his confession.

“Thank you for taking care of me. I know it wasn’t easy,” he said, thinking of the many mishaps that had befallen him in only two short days.

“Of course, Jask. I’ll always take care of you,” he said, and Jaskier’s heart melted. “Even when you’re at your most annoying.” Never mind; Jaskier’s heart was definitely still hard.

“Oh, shut up,” he said, pushing Geralt away slightly, who went easily. “Oh, I definitely missed being able to push you around. Just wait—you’ll never be free of my wrath now,” he cackled, pinning Geralt to the bed.

“And what will you do with me?” Geralt asked, shifting underneath him so that Jaskier felt _everything._

“Anything you want,” Jaskier breathed, diving down to capture his lips in a kiss.

And then they proceeded to do anything they wanted—several times.

**Author's Note:**

> Please take a minute to leave kudos or a comment if you liked it! also, find me on tumblr [here](https://handwrittenhello.tumblr.com)!


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